


"Not You!"

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Humor, Internal Monologue, Lestrade-Dissing, M/M, No Mystrade here!, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: When Greg Lestrade asks Sherlock an unexpected question, things end up very smutty between the famous detective and the British Government.





	"Not You!"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to everybody who has a thing for Greg Lestrade! :) The dissing was necessary.

Sherlock turned around, his coat flapping proudly around his tall, lean figure. “I'm off, Lestrade. Come, John. New adventures are waiting on this beautiful Sunday afternoon.”

“Um, wait, just on second. Do you think… Ah, no, forget it…”

“Hm? What?” Sherlock stopped and eyed the Detective Inspector.

“Ah, it's nothing. Thanks so much for your help on the case again, boys.”

“What is it, Lestrade?!”

The DI grinned sheepishly. “I just wondered… if you think… nah.”

“Spit it out or I swear…”

“Sherlock. Let him if he's too embarrassed.”

The consulting detective stared down on his partner. “Embarrassed? Why would he be embarrassed?”

Greg Lestrade shifted his weight and nervously played with his hands. “Well, it wasn't about a case or something. It was… rather personal.”

 _Oh God, people and their silly, trivial little problems_.

Sherlock sighed. “Say it or suck it up for good.”

“Okay, I wanted to know if you think I could call… your brother.”

Sherlock impatiently shook his head. “Well, why not? I'm rather sure he hasn't changed his number for years!”

John cleared his throat. “I don't think that's what this question was about…”

“Then what _is it_ about?” And then he saw Lestrade's flushed cheeks and gaped at him. “No… You are asking me if you should ask my brother, _the Iceman_ , for a... date? Are you out of your mind, Garrett?”

Lestrade squirmed and shrugged. “I know, it's silly but… I spent some hours with him when you asked me to look after him that night, and, well… he's actually really… hot…”

Sherlock rubbed his ears. No way he had heard correctly. “Hot?! The Ice…”

“Sherlock, it's quite clear that he's _not_ an Iceman,” John interrupted him rather impolitely. “We saw how he suffered in Sherrinford and you were the one who asked Lestrade to make sure he's okay.”

“Yes but…” Sherlock shook his head. “Well, you do have his number. What am I – his chaperon?”

John snorted. “Never thought you'd know, let alone use, this word. Well, good luck then, Greg!”

“Thanks, boys. Not sure if he'll be amenable to it at all.”

“If he is, please - no details.” With this Sherlock swirled the coat around himself once more and dramatically stalked out of the Yard.

He had triumphantly solved a really difficult case, almost a _Ten_ , and should be on a decent high.

But somehow he felt a tiny, little, barely-there stir in his stomach that was spoiling it.

*****

“You okay, Sherlock?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I asked you to hand me the tea five times now but you didn’t hear me.”

“And why couldn’t you be bothered to get your bottom up to get it yourself then? What am I – your valet?”

“Easy, Sherlock.” John did get up and fetched the pot himself now. “What's wrong?”

“I think I already told you that in fact nothing is wrong. I was just… thinking.”

“Oh, I see. Mind palace and all. About a case then?”

“Of course. What else?”

John beamed at him. “Exactly! More tea?”

But Sherlock didn’t hear him anymore. He was back to serious thinking. And it had absolutely nothing to do with a case. Well, with a case-provider for sure.

_It's not right…_

_He can't…_

_Mycroft!_

_Mycroft?_

_He said Mycroft was hot!_

_Is he…?_

_Hm…_

_Yeah._

_Perhaps. A bit._

_Tall._

_Very tall._

_Blue eyes, mm-hm._

_Nose a tad big though._

_Doesn't matter. Suits him._

_Nice lips. Not as nice as mine but nice enough._

_Too nice for him - Gavin!_

_Long fingers - Mycroft._

_Long legs._

_Wears rather tight suits these days, doesn’t he?_

_Nice… bottom._

_And the front… pretty hung, my brother._

_Damn, and he has a huge brain! What would he even do with Gustav? He would be bored to death!_

_I can't let that happen!_

_I mean, duh!_

_Grumpy, Grey-Head Gilbert won't get him!_

_He doesn’t deserve him!_

_Disgusting!_

_Bah!_

_Mycroft needs someone super-smart, with good looks and a god-like body, not some old man who doesn’t deserve even a glance from him!_

_Who could that be?_

_Damn, who else than me?_

Sherlock shot up from his chair, almost turning over his cup.

“Oi, where are you going?”

“Things. Need to do some things.”

“Ah, I see, everything's clear now. Will you be back for dinner?”

“No! I really hope not!”

“Fine. Have fun then, Sherlock.”

_*****_

“This is not going to happen! Do you understand?”

Mycroft, standing in the door of his house, was looking at him, his face the human equivalent of a question mark. “Sherlock? What are you talking about?”

Sherlock slipped out of his coat and threw it on the ground. “I will not allow this!”

“What? What do you mean for God's sake! You are not making any… hmpff.”

Damn, these lips were not as bow-like as his own, but they did feel nice! And they tasted great!

_Whiskey…_

_Chocolate… Dark, 69, no, 75 percent cocoa._

_His spit tastes good!_

_Wow!_

Mycroft was struggling and gurgling in his grip… for about twenty seconds, and then he kissed him back fiercely, his hands on Sherlock's bum, kneading it deliciously roughly.

Sherlock knees got weak. Damn, his brother could kiss! Not that he could compare him with anyone as he had never kissed anyone like this before but holy hell!

And what was grinding against his groin?

_Oh… Oh! Big!_

It caused a nice pull in his own neglected penis which seemed to be very keen on making contact with its counterpart.

He reached between their bodies and rubbed his brother through his trousers which made Mycroft moan into his mouth which made Sherlock almost come into his pants.

Mycroft did the reasonable thing and pulled away. “I don't know where this comes from all at once and I know it's the most illegal thing we could do but dammit Sherlock – if you seriously want that, we'll just go upstairs and have a serious sexual encounter.”

“Damn, say that again!”

“What? Sexual?”

“Oooh! Upstairs! Now!”

They dragged each other to the next floor, stumbling in Mycroft's bedroom while fumbling at each other's crotches and backsides. Buttons were ripped off when shirts couldn’t get removed fast enough and legs were scratched by fingernails when trousers were shoved down and kicked off impatiently.

Two tall male bodies landed on the generous bed, the only modern piece of furniture in the house (apart from the bathrooms) and smooth skin was pressed against hairy skin, the teeth of a government official repeatedly bit into a long, pale neck, fingers pulled at seriously leaking penises and inserted – after using some helpful fluid – into quivering, eager anuses. And then it was Sherlock's anus that had the pleasure of being visited by a massive, blood-filled intruder and the high-pitched noises he made when he was fucked into the mattress would nobody have recognised as the voice of Sherlock Holmes, the man with the famous baritone, and when he spurted out load after load of sticky, white fluid between their sweaty bodies, he screamed as if he was being impaled by a different sort of pole and he managed to come a second time when his brother's hot essence was spilled deep inside him.

In the end Mycroft collapsed on him, panting as if he had jogged around Westminster Abbey five times in a row, an only slowly softening part of his anatomy still sticking in his brother, working as a cork that kept his semen from running out of a consulting detective's delicate hole, and they both fell into a healthy sleep.

An hour later, they woke up and did it again.

And again.

*****

It was nine o'clock when Sherlock stumbled into 221B Baker Street. And stopped when he saw John sitting in his chair and someone else sitting in Sherlock's chair – no other than Detective _G-Something_ Lestrade.

“That's mine.” He didn’t know why he said this as he had no intention of sitting down. Or would be able to sit down for at least a day. Just to make a point, really.

“Oh, hi Sherlock. Had a pleasant evening?” John asked, all smiles.

“Damn, look at him. All messed up and bruised. And his lips! He had a _very_ pleasant evening…”

“And I believe you owe me fifty pounds.”

“Yeah. Damn. Who would have thought? On the first date!”

John chuckled. “You call that a date? But yeah. Thought it would take them at least two days. Was closer to it though.”

“Much closer. Who could expect Mycroft would be so easy to get?”

“Not for anybody, Greg. Not for you, as hard as it is to tell you.”

“Git. As if I had ever thought anything else.”

Sherlock was looking from one man to the other. The truth sank in. “This was – a bet? You weren't even interested in my brother? And you, what, bet how long it would take us to… get into bed?”

“Quite so.”

“But… why?! Isn't it actually illegal? Incest?”

“Funny that you should mention that,” Lestrade tutted. “But don't worry – you are Holmeses. These rules are for normal people… And you're both guys. Guess there won't be any baby Holmeses coming out of that.”

John nodded. “Yeah, and I saw his look at you in Sherrinford. He loves you. I owe him something for, you know, this sacrifice-thing. And if anyone can bear you and endure your moods and catch up with you, it's him.”

“Oh… Well… Thank you.”

The DI beamed at him. “See! It's working wonders already!”

“Yes, some hours of hot sex with his brother and he can behave all at once.”

“He will be an angel in a few days when Mycroft fucks some awful good manners into him.”

Sherlock shook his head. These childish men! But then he smiled. Mycroft fucking him again and again sounded really, really good.

The End

 

 


End file.
